Crates
by Adam Shmadam
Summary: Lucien is forced to face some repressed war memories.


Mattie breezed in with her usual youthful exuberance that Jean wished she could bottle up and save for herself on occasion.

"Are you sure Lucien won't mind about the crates?" the younger woman asked.

"No, it'll be fine, Mattie."

"I don't know what my parents were thinking – I had no idea it would be that much stuff!"

A few weeks ago, Mattie's parents had called and surprised her with the news that her father was to be taking a long-term diplomatic post overseas, and that they were renting out the house, necessitating packing up "a few of her things" and sending them on to Ballarat. In the midst of the bustle that was her life at the Blake residence, Mattie had honestly forgot all about her belongings until earlier that day when a harried pair of teamsters with a delivery truck unceremoniously dumped two very large wooden packing crates in the drive.

"I suppose you may have to empty them a bit, unless Danny's here to help Lucien move them," Jean suggested as she poured the tea.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x

It was not much later that the women heard the distinctive protesting rattle of Lucien's vehicle coming up the drive, and smirked to themselves. He really needs to get a different car, Jean thought to herself. Before his passing, Dr. Thomas Blake's inexplicable devotion to that Standard was a running joke between them, but Jean was perplexed at Lucien's insistence on keeping the old thing running. At least ten minutes had passed, and Lucien's footsteps had still not been heard in the hall. Curious, Mattie went to the window looking out the front.

"Jean?"

What Jean saw when she looked out the window was not anything what she had expected- Lucien, standing stock still, eyes transfixed on Mattie's crates. He remained just like that as the women came outside. Upon closer inspection, Mattie noticed a tremor in his hands.

"Lucien? Are you OK?"

Mattie placed a hand on his arm, and he startled.

"Yes, I'm fine," his voice unusually abrupt.

And before anyone could press him further, he marched into the house, leaving confusion in his wake.

In the few seconds it took for Jean and Mattie to reenter the house, Lucien had already managed to pour a rather large whiskey. He stood uneasily, in the middle of the living room, trying not to meet their eyes.

"I can get those out of the way…" Mattie started.

He made a strange sort of sound, something between a laugh and a sob, and put his hand to the back of his head, in what Jean recognized as his habit when he was trying to keep control.

"It's not that, Mattie,"

He knocked back the glass, the majority of the liquid disappearing in one swallow.

"No doubt," he said barely above a whisper, "you know what I did in the war."

In a place like Ballarat, there was no such thing as a secret or privacy. Lucien hadn't even returned yet before most knew that he had been in Singapore when it fell and was a prisoner of war for years.

Jean merely nodded, and tried to impart what support she could to him with her eyes. He met her glance, and seemed grateful for it. It was so quiet the ticking of the kitchen clock could be heard. Swallowing hard, he continued,

"In the camp, they had boxes like those, except they were metal."

He looked at Mattie, then, willing her to understand.

"They were hot to the touch in the sun, and in the rainy season, they were put in the bottom of trenches, half-drowning the poor sods in them."

"Oh, Lucien…"

Mattie crossed to him in an instant, hugging him so fiercely a soft little "oomph" escaped him at initial contact. He put his arms around her and sighed.

The phone rang, and Jean reluctantly went to answer it.

"Lucien, you're needed at the hospital."

"Right. Thank you, Jean."

And with that, he was gone.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Jean distractedly went about her errands, her mind more on Lucien and his revelations of the day before than the tasks in front of her. She had not seen him since his summons to the hospital, although she knew he had been home, based on the state of his bedclothes and the absence of leftovers in the fridge. He seemed to be actively avoiding her, and it hurt, probably much more than it should, she thought wryly. They had finally found some sort of equilibrium between them, and that understanding seemed to be crumbling away, through no one's fault. She couldn't blame him, really. She knew how much of an effort it had taken for him to describe, even as obliquely as he did, his experiences to Mattie, who through no fault of her own, was far too young to understand, truly, the horrors of war.

"Thwack!"

Then a moment later,

"Thwack!"

Putting the shopping down on the counter, she located the strange sounds as coming from the bottom of the garden. She automatically wondered what crockery would be sacrificed in the name of police investigation this time, as she walked out to see what was going on.

Despite it being a hot day, there was a small fire burning, tended by Mattie, who, Jean was happy to see, had thought to have a bucket nearby. The young woman was somewhat gleefully feeding the flames with chunks of wood, being supplied to her by Lucien.

Lucien. Wielding an ax, fairly skillfully considering his chosen profession.

Lucien. Stripped down to his singlet, muscular arms glistening in the sun.

She suddenly found it very hot, indeed.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

With a great sweeping arc, the remaining bit of packing crate split into two. Mattie threw one piece on the fire, and handed the last remnant to him. He had been skeptical of this idea of hers – that this simple act of destruction would somehow erase the past – but he went along with it, for her sake. If she thought that this would drown out the screams of his nightmares, he certainly wasn't going to be the one to disabuse her of that notion. And, truth be told, it did feel good to do some manual labor for a change, although he doubted his back and arms would thank him in the morning. Beyond the rising sparks, he saw Jean coming towards them with a towel and a tray with three bottles of beer, like some kind of phoenix.

They toasted to catharsis.

Author's Note: I just had to share that image of Lucien chopping wood! Lol. I have only fairly recently become a fan of TDBM, and I'm not sure why. I had seen snippets of a few of the earlier episodes, but it didn't quite "stick" until a few weeks ago, and now I am OBSESSED (truly). Some of you may know my

MI-5/Spooks stories, which I promise I WILL finish. I hope y'all enjoy my take(s) on the Blakeverse…please leave a review if you are so inclined…thanks to everyone who reviewed my first Blake story!


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